


The End of All Things

by jerseydevious



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Boys Will Be Boys, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Humor, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Break, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Tumblr Prompt, anakin is very much fifteen, obi-wan is very much influenced by his best friend being a fifteen year old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/pseuds/jerseydevious
Summary: Obi-Wan returns from a solo mission to a horrifying, terrifying, awful discovery; his fifteen-year-old padawan is now taller than him.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 93
Kudos: 407





	The End of All Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheepfulsheepyard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepfulsheepyard/gifts).



> I took SW prompts on Tumblr. If you want to join in, feel free to send one to @misskirby on Tumblr, but I make no promises about finishing all of them! This one is for my VERY BEST LEFT SOCK SHEEP, who has the BEST takes and I love her so much, and I tailored this bullshit specifically to make her smile. 
> 
> No warnings! This is pure uncut boy stupidity. Maximum, majestic idiocy.

Obi-Wan adjusted the duffel bag slung over his shoulder—standard-issue, nondescript dark brown, the same as the cloak covering his back. Anakin often accused the Order of a lack of taste, considering the traditional Jedi robes varied from shades of white to beiges and light grays, and Obi-Wan often groused and how, precisely, is black a more interesting improvement, but the sameness did lose its flavor when even the duffel bags looked the same. He hovered his key card over the slot, and—

“I had cleaned before I started,” Anakin said, immediately, muffled, somewhere off to the left.

Obi-Wan glanced about their quarters; in fact, the living room, visible over their breakfast bar, was very much put together, but a thrill of apprehension rolled through him when he noticed the canvas tool bag perched on the bar. “Oh, no. Should I expect a warm welcome from the toaster, or the oven.”  
  


Obi-Wan screwed up his courage and glance down and to his left, into their kitchen—Anakin had unplugged their refrigerator and turned it completely around, elbow-deep into some mechanism on the back of it. There was a thin layer of water around him, that Obi-Wan toed pensively with his boot.

“The freezer,” Anakin said, finally. “It’s not freezing.”

“We employ contractors to fix things,” Obi-Wan said, mildly, leaning over to peer into the depths of whatever it was Anakin was doing. Truth be told, Anakin had been a prodigy in mechanics since before Obi-Wan had known him, and most of what he did and said confused Obi-Wan immensely even then. Now, it was truly hopeless, because Obi-Wan was sure Anakin invented half of the things he did anyway.

“I employ my hands to fix things,” Anakin said. “You’re back early.”

“Stunningly warm welcome, padawan mine,” Obi-Wan said, crossing by the kitchen and dropping his duffel on the couch that curved around the holotable. “I truly feel missed.”

“I missed you, Master, especially in the mornings. It’s so quiet without your unasked for opinion on everything.”

Obi-Wan covered his smile with his hand. “Unasked for? Tch, padawan, I’d thought you’d have realized by now that my opinion is the only one here that matters. Do you need help?”

He crossed back, again, canted his hip against the doorway in front of their fridge, appraising the array of bags and cartons spread across their counter. Anakin was folded over nearly double, scowling—his hair needed a trim, and he was looking a bit on the gangly side, but at fifteen standard Anakin grew too fast to be anything but gangly. Like those baby gundarks, just growing into their claws.

“Frankly,” he said, “I don’t trust you to touch it, Master.”

Obi-Wan scrubbed at his eyes. “Fair enough. I’ll just watch you fix it, then.”

Anakin twisted around to look at him, bright eyes blinking in disbelief. “It’s been fixed, Master. I’m just—enhancing it.”

Obi-Wan cast a baleful look at their toaster, which, courtesy of an imaginative Anakin at age ten, was also granted all the power of a flamethrower. But as he did, he saw the line of dust and debris behind and beside where their fridge had been. “By the Force, is that really how dirty it is down there?”

Anakin’s head twisted to look at it. “I don’t remember ever cleaning it. And if I’ve never done it, you absolutely never have.”

“I resent that remark,” Obi-Wan said, mildly. “At least I don’t lose my socks at a rate only comparable to hyperspace travel. Don’t you dare make a comment on my cloaks, I can see it written on your face—at least try to have a more intelligent remark.”

“After you left I went into your room and had to perform a liberation operation,” Anakin said. “Seven cups of half-drank tea, Master. At least finish the tea.”

“Hm. Well, I’d liberate the no doubt desperate cup citizens of your room, Anakin, except I’d have to wade through droid parts hip-deep.”

“They’re not droid parts, they’re T-83 alpha navcomputer processing units, and it’s just an experiment to see—” Anakin broke off with a yelp as a wire sparked on his hand, and he pulled his hand out and flapped it in the air a bit, before settling back in. “It’s an experiment to see if the Kessel glitch can be used to _—ow—_ you don’t know anything I’m saying, do you.”

Obi-Wan squinted at the tangled mess Anakin’s hands were knotted in. “That wire looks awfully uncovered. Shouldn’t you be wearing gloves? And of course not, you talk about the most baffling nonsense imaginable.”

“I always forget gloves. I can’t even find them,” Anakin said. He shook his shoulders. “Next time you’re in a starship, Master, I’ll pull out the navcomputer and see how you enjoy what happens.”

“I’ll enjoy it immensely. I have no idea what happens.”

“In modern starships the hyperdrive can’t activate without the navcomputer connected, so you can’t enter hyperspace while manually piloting the ship.”

“I have a sense as to why that would be a bad thing, but I can’t really fathom why,” Obi-Wan said.

“Imagine a freighter in hyperspace crashing into a planet at hyperspeed,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Ah. That would be… explosive.”

Anakin snorted. “But T-83 alpha navcomputers have something called the Kessel glitch, which is how a lot of spice runners—”

“I’m going to clean behind the fridge,” Obi-Wan announced, loudly, because he was a lot of things, and he liked to believe he was often patient, but his ability to follow Anakin’s technical babble was so deep in the negatives it could have been considered an anomaly among men.

Obi-Wan squeezed into the gap where their kitchen closet was, and dug out their broom, and then squeezed behind Anakin to sweep up the dust and debris. When Obi-Wan was finished, and lifting the dustpan, Anakin elbowed him sharply in the knee and Obi-Wan spilled it.

“I could throttle you, padawan,” Obi-Wan said, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear.

Anakin was grinning. “Bold for a Jedi Knight with that haircut.”

“There is nothing wrong with—” and then Obi-Wan bopped Anakin in the face with the dusty end of the broom, and Anakin squawked like a startled goffbird and scrambled backwards.

“That’s _disgusting,_ Master—”

“I have no sympathy,” Obi-Wan said, viciously. He tried to smother his laughter, watching Anakin furiously scrub at his face, and then break out into a bout of sneezes. Which was, truthfully, one of Obi-Wan’s favorite methods of humbling his young apprentice; Anakin could never sneeze just the once, but rather sneezed five or six times in a row, and would then glare at Obi-Wan waiting for him to offer a dry comment.

While Obi-Wan was laughing, Anakin scrambled and kicked the back of his knee, so Obi-Wan hit the ground flat on his back and the thin sheen of water coating the floor soaked him cold. In seconds, his evil little padawan was looming over him, smirking. “I think I could get used to kicking your ass, old man,” Anakin said. “This is how it should be.”

Obi-Wan raised a brow. “You have the high ground, little padawan, but I have all the creativity.” He flicked his hand and a carton of milk flew threw the air and upended itself over Anakin’s head, and Anakin shrieked, batting it out of the air, and while he was distracted Obi-Wan swept his ankles out from beneath him—Anakin crashed into the counter, knocking over several jars that exploded in various stored jams. Idly, Obi-Wan wondered if their absurd collection of jams showed a shared sweet tooth, or a certain laziness where toast made up a significant amount of what they ate. Obi-Wan stood and slid into a ready position.

When Anakin smiled at him, it was all sharp teeth—with a touch of pride, Obi-Wan noted that Anakin may be intimidating someday, despite all his boyishness. He might have managed it then, if blue milk hadn’t been dripping through his hair and down his face. “You’ll regret that, Master.”

Anakin snatched a jar of red jaha jam and then rushed him, tackling Obi-Wan to the ground—on the water, they slid next to the door, and Anakin smeared the jam down Obi-Wan’s face and front.

“The beard, really,” Obi-Wan said. “It will never come out.”  
  


“It’s jaha jam. It’ll be dyed bright red for days,” Anakin said, smugly, and then—oh, of course, jaha jam could stain even skin for days.

“I will destroy you,” Obi-Wan swore, vehemently. “You are not, and have never been, safe from me.”

“Consider this your welcome back from your mission, Master,” Anakin said, gleefully, and then he stood and pulled Obi-Wan off of the ground.

“I’m sure you want to know how the Djem So benchmark went,” Anakin said, turning to the sink and sticking his head beneath it. “I think it went well. Master Windu took a holovid for you to study. But I could also show you, if you want revenge.”

Obi-Wan stood stiffly. “Anakin, stand up.”

Anakin huffed, and flicked off the tap, straightening and shaking his head so water droplets flew everywhere.

Obi-Wan yelped. “That is—uncouth, little padawan, now stand directly in front of me.”

Anakin leaned over the sink, his eyes suddenly scanning Obi-Wan reproachfully. “I thought you’d at least let me wash my hair before you started your plot to destroy me.”

Obi-Wan waved his hand. “Oh, yes, very funny, utterly hilarious. Now, padawan, stand in front of me.”

He’d been gone two months, solving a situation on Felucia; with Anakin’s Djem So benchmark coming up, it had been necessary for him to stay at the Temple, and test his saber skills. Anakin had been cross about the situation the entire week before Obi-Wan had left, and then the mission had spiraled a bit out of control and Obi-Wan had been gone for two months, instead of the expected two weeks. It was the longest chunk he’d been separated from his padawan since Anakin had been granted leave to start off-world missions, and—if Obi-Wan were inclined to honesty, if Obi-Wan were inclined at all to look at the brightening thing in his chest, he would know that he had missed Anakin more than a master missed a padawan. He had missed Anakin as he would a piece of himself; he had missed Anakin as a brother, as the very blood that ran through him.

Anakin stood, eyes on the ground, in front of Obi-Wan. “I’m not—in trouble, am I?”

“Head up straight,” Obi-Wan said. “Don’t slouch. You’re always slouching. Sometimes I simply have no idea how you’re so arrogant with a slouch like that, are you man or mouse? Stand.”

Anakin growled in the back of his throat. “You’re infuriating, Master,” he said, even as he shifted his weight and straightened his back, and—and when he looked down at Obi-Wan, eyes wide, grin spreading across his face, Obi-Wan knew Anakin had come to the same realization Obi-Wan had.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” Obi-Wan said, mournfully, hand covering his mouth. “Never will I know peace again.”

“I’m taller than you,” Anakin said, joyfully. “You’re short, Master!”

“You are barely an inch taller,” Obi-Wan snapped.  
  


“You’re short!” Anakin shrieked, again. To rub it in Obi-Wan’s face, he leveled a hand at the top of his head and drew it outwards in a straight line, and to Obi-Wan’s horror—to his most significant irritation—Anakin’s hand hovered steadily in the air over Obi-Wan’s head.

“This is the end of all things,” Obi-Wan said, softly. “I stand here at the end of all things, on the last of all days.”  
  


“You can’t call me little padawan anymore,” Anakin crowed. His face was so unbearably smug Obi-Wan almost marched him down to a training salle so the boy would remember which of them was the master, and which of them was the padawan.

“Yes, I’ll call you irritating padawan,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s truly more accurate anyway.”

Anakin stuck his tongue out at Obi-Wan. “I can’t hear you, you’re so far down there, Master.”

“I suppose this means we should pay a visit to the quartermaster, and see if he’s forgiven us for the last set of robes you outgrew,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin looked for a long moment like he wanted to say something, and then he grinned broadly again—his smile all teeth the way it was when he was truly enjoying his obstinance—and said, “I’m taller than you. This changes everything, Master.”

“It changes nothing, my very, very, very young padawan,” Obi-Wan said, vehemently.

Anakin grabbed him by the elbows, and turned them around, so his back was to their door, like he wanted to enjoy his newfound height from all the various angles. And that, precisely, was what he did, because he kept turning his head this way and that, his grin growing ever more infernal, and Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan chose to make a point about being ready for anything, and tackled his padawan.

He’d meant for them to crash against the door—this was, after all, something of their tradition, because Anakin had always had a surplus of energy that often turned into, well, boyish wrestling. But he hadn’t locked the door behind him when he’d gotten back, distracted as he’d been by the situation with their refrigerator, and the door to their quarters slid open and the two of them slid into the hall, Obi-Wan holding Anakin by the shoulders and Anakin laughing as hard as he’d ever had. They were both drenched in water, Obi-Wan’s face and front smeared in bright red jam, and Anakin’s head soaked and still dripping blue milk in places his dip in the sink had missed.

“Nothing to see here,” Obi-Wan said, to the flow of traffic that had stopped entirely around them. He stood hastily and hauled Anakin—the gremlin creature was still laughing, blast it all—and shoved him back through the doorway.

When their door had slid shut behind them, Obi-Wan pointed at Anakin and said, “I will destroy you when you least expect it. This is the end of all things, I’m convinced. Now finish—those—enhancements, and get showered. I believe you have Djem So demonstration to give me.”

Anakin nodded. “Sure,” he said, breathlessly, still grinning. He gestured at his face. “Master, you’ve got a little something—”

“I will end you,” Obi-Wan said.

He would ensure that Anakin remembered his upcoming Djem So demonstration for the rest of time. By the end of the day, with any luck, Anakin would be too sore to even comment on—or engage in any antics, whatsoever. Obi-Wan would have to come up with ideas, while he scrubbed jam off his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for attending this, my discussion of the depths of stupidity Obi-Wan and Anakin can plunge to for utterly no reason.


End file.
